The gate guards would not let Anwen into the fortress proper. They made her wait in the blockhouse while a message was sent. She perched upon the cold stone shelf, shivering, for there were no biers or fire pits in the blockhouse.
It seemed as if hours passed before she heard the sound she had been waiting for—the tap of a staff upon stone. Then his voice.
“I’m told someone wishes to speak to me?” Steffan murmured.
“In here, sir,” the guard said.
Anwen got to her feet, her heart picking up speed.
Steffan’s shadow filled the doorway. Then he moved into view and turned into the room, the staff swinging. Three steps, then he paused, his chin lifting.
Anwen opened her mouth to speak, to let him know she was there.
“Anwen?” he said, sounding startled.
Her lips parted in surprise. “Yes. I am here.” She moved closer to him. “Do you know what Uther plans, Steffan? Do you?”
Steffan tilted his head. “Wait,” he said softly. “There are too many people here and too many doors to listen at. Come with me.” He held out his hand.
Anwen hesitated. Then she slid her hand into his. His touch was warm.
Steffan took her back through the blockhouse to a set of stone steps. “Up,” he said.
She climbed beside him. The steps were a straight flight and at the top they emerged into bright sunlight. The wall of the outer perimeter curved around the fortress itself. They stood upon the top, which was five paces deep. The walkway was shielded by shoulder-high stone facing the city, and waist-high stone on the other side.
There were guards spread along the top of the wall, one every hundred paces. None of them turned to look at Anwen and Steffan as they emerged from the stairs.
“There are guards,” Anwen warned Steffan.
“They won’t look at us,” Steffan said. “No one can hear us up here, if we move far enough away from the gatehouse. Pick a place, Anwen—somewhere between the guards.”
She chose the best position and led Steffan along the wall until they were standing between the two nearest guards, then turned to him. In the spring sunshine, Steffan’s strong face showed signs of strain. “You are not well,” Anwen said. “Are they treating you unkindly, here?”
“No more than anywhere else.”
“They are making you eat in public,” she pointed out.
“It was a just the one night.” He paused. “You were there…!”
Anwen nodded, even though he could not see it. “I was. I saw it all.” She dropped her voice even lower. “Steffan, this cannot be allowed to happen!”
He shook his head. “Speak plainly, Anwen. You always have.”
“Uther and Igraine!” she whispered. “Merlin plots to bring them together. Surely, if you are Uther’s man, you must be aware of this?”
Steffan sighed. “I am,” he said heavily. “I cannot stop it, though. I’m not sure I even should.”
Anwen stared at him, horrified. “I cannot believe you of all people would say such a thing. Of course it must be stopped! You were Gorlois’ man for much longer than you have been Uther’s. You understand the qualities of both men. How can you countenance Gorlois being cuckolded in this way?”
“There’s more to this than you understand,” Steffan said, his voice strained.
Anwen studied him, puzzled. “I do not understand,” she said in agreement. “It is plain you disapprove, yet you will do nothing?”
Steffan reached out. His fingers touched her arm, then slid up to her face. He held it, his thumb stroking her cheek and making her skin sizzle. “Merlin has made me hesitate to interfere.”
He told her of Merlin’s predictions, about a king to surpass all others, of peace and prosperity. “If Merlin is right—and he has never once been wrong—then this is the only way Britain can be saved from the blackest of times to come.”
“You do not believe in magic,” Anwen said, her voice hoarse because her throat was so tight. “You have said so many times that reasoning and logic were the only truths. How can you possibly take Merlin’s word for it?”
“Because it isn’t magic he used to see it,” Steffan replied. “It was logic and reason. Common sense says the Saxons will return and in greater numbers than ever before.”
“Merlin told you what you wanted to hear,” Anwen said. “He spoke to Igraine of a child—how could he infer that from logic and reason?”
“He didn’t,” Steffan said. “It could be what he calls his Sight or perhaps he is guessing.”
“So you do believe in his powers?”
Steffan shook his head. “No.”
“You won’t try to stop Uther, though?”
“How can I possibly do anything?” Steffan asked, his tone reasonable.
Anwen gripped his sleeves and shook him. “Of course you can! You ride a horse like a sighted man. You made your own way to Venta Belgarum. You found your way back to the High King’s service when everyone thought you should count yourself lucky to tutor little girls. I’ve seen you fight professional soldiers and win! How can you say you’re helpless? You’re the least helpless man I know!”
Steffan plucked her hand from his arm and held it. “That isn’t what I meant. I swore to serve Uther, Anwen. I don’t get to choose the manner of my service. Even if I disapprove of what Uther plans to do, what sort of man am I if I do not help him? He expects my loyalty. If I fail to give it to him, my disapproval would be hypocritical.”
“Your values are stopping you?” Anwen breathed.
“Tell me yours are not,” Steffan replied. “As you are aware of Uther’s plans, Igraine must have asked you to help her with them. Will you refuse to help because it is wrong?”
Anwen tightened her grip on his hand. “I cannot refuse,” she said. “I am sworn to serve her.”
Steffan nodded. “You see?”
Anwen dropped her head. “That is why you cling to Merlin’s predictions. It gives you hope where there was none before.”
“If there is a king to be made from of this,” Steffan said, “then perhaps it is as well he will be reared away from Uther’s earthly impulses. Perhaps Merlin has the right of it there, too.”
“Merlin is working for his higher power, only he is moving mere people about with his manipulations. Does he not see what he is condoning, with this?”
Steffan lifted his chin and turned his head, as if he was looking down at the city. “I think he knows perfectly well. I think he also knows the price which will be asked, too. He fails to tell the price to those of us caught up in it, for fear we might hesitate.”
“The price?” Anwen repeated, her heart stirring uneasily.
“There is a price for everything. That is what I have learned.” He lifted his hand toward his eyes. “I rose through the ranks to the highest there was, too young and too fast. I dined with kings and princes and leaders. I grew arrogant and far too sure of myself. I was convinced the world owed me everything I wanted. For my folly, my sight was lost.”
“That was nothing but a Saxon hammer,” Anwen said. “You did not ask to be blinded.”
“In a way, I did. I grew careless on the battlefield, Anwen. I thought I was invincible. Fate made sure I learned I was not. Igraine and Uther, too, will pay for their treachery, one way or another.”
Anwen shivered again, even though the sun was warm on her shoulders. “I must go back. I told no one, not even Igraine, I was coming here.”
Steffan kissed her, stealing her breath and making her body thrum. “Thank you,” he said, his lips brushing hers.
“For what?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice steady.
“For listening. For understanding. For being you.” His thumb stroked over the back of her hand.
Anwen’s eyes ached. She withdrew her hand. “As if being myself has such great benefit.” She moved around Steffan, to head for the stairs once more and hesitated. “Shall I take you back to the blockhouse?”
“I can find the way from here,” he told her, his back to her.
Anwen almost ran to the top of the steps down into the gatehouse, her heart swooping and spinning.
As she hurried through the busy streets of Venta Belgarum, she reflected that if there was a price attached to every decision one could make, then Steffan had failed to calculate what the price would be for himself and her, for their roles in Uther’s conspiracy.
There was comfort in that idea. She had already lost everything it was possible to lose. She had nothing more for Fate to take from her but her life. Without Steffan in it, Anwen would give up that life without quibble.